Love: Mostly Harmless
by W.H. Woolhat
Summary: Ford has been stuck on Earth for nine years with no hope of escape. Then he meets a young woman who is the first person to actually understand his plight. But will the darkness hiding in Ford's mind put a roadblock between them? Now complete!
1. Star Girl

~ Author's note: This story grew out of a snippet I had hanging around on my hard drive for ages.  It's set nine years after Ford first gets stuck on Earth (so about 6 years before _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_).  It's a bit AU, but I thought it might be fun to poke around in Ford's mind and find out some of the things that make him the way he is.  Please let me know what you think!~

Chapter 1 – Star Girl 

                The night was young.  The pub smelled of stale beer and raging hormones.  Trashy music blared from a jukebox in the corner.

                Ford Prefect pushed his way through the crowd, glad to be hidden by people who were taller than him and ignored by people who weren't.  When he finally got to the bar, he ordered everything with a foreign-sounding name and settles in to get good and drunk.

                It had not been a pleasant night.  Visions that Ford thought he'd lost long ago to dead brain cells had been cropping up in his head.  Long-banished images arose unbidden.  It had gotten to the point where even sleep was no escape, so Ford had headed to the pub.  He found a good stiff drink, or several, was generally the best way to solve these problems.

                His plan was interrupted by the girl.  Not just _a _girl, but _the _girl.  She, too, came out of nowhere, a vision in her own right, only a much nicer one.  She sat down next to Ford at the bard, seeming not to notice him, and ordered a drink.  Well, there went Ford's first idea for a pickup line.  What kind of girl ordered herself a drink when she was sitting right next to a man who was perfectly capable of doing it for her?  On places like Ursa Minor Beta, this was considered terribly bad manners.

                But this wasn't Ursa Minor Beta, no, not by a long shot.  This was Earth: small, blue-green, unfashionable, and mind-bogglingly boring.

                Ford shook his head.  He didn't want to think about his past nine years of being stuck on Earth.  He didn't want to think about anything.  He turned back to his drinks and tried to concentrate on them.

                Only, the girl was looking at him now.  She had a dark, piercing gaze that bored into him.  For a moment Ford wondered how far she was from her birthplace, then shook his head again.  Earth pub, Earth women.  It was sometimes frightening how often he had to remind himself of that.  A desperate longing to have his life back had taken up residence in his heart, and sometimes had a holiday in the lower regions of his stomach.  It did this now, and Ford tried not to spasm as he set down his current drink.

                "I recognize you," the girl said suddenly, "You're the one who's always looking for flying saucers."

                Ford kept his gaze fixed on his drinks.  Discussions starting with that comment always ended badly.  Despite his initial impression of the girl, he had no reason to believe this one would be any different.

                "Green ones," the girl persisted with a glance out the window.

                Ford mumbled something about drinking too much and knocked back an entire margarita in one go.

                "Why green?" the girl asked, watching him.  With a sign, Ford decided to humor her and get it over with.

                "The color doesn't even matter," he said, a bit incoherently, "Any flying saucer at all would work to get me off this bloody planet."

                The girl looked out the window again, surprising Ford with her sudden downtrodden, wistful expression.

                "I know how you feel," she said quietly.  Ford stared at her.  Her tone was so sincere and possessed so much of the same faraway quality he often heard in his own voice that he felt himself sobering up.  There was something different about this girl; he knew that now.  He wasn't sure how he knew it, but the feeling of knowing cut through his current depression and paranoia.  And, at least for now, that was enough.  He abandoned his remaining drinks and asked her to dance.

                She accepted.  How could she not?  Something about the way his eyes looked just a bit too far into the distance and didn't blink quite as often as they should intrigued her.  And the stories she'd heard about him, the things she'd heard him say on nights when she herself was sitting in a corner, feeling so terribly alone...she'd felt the need to finally talk to him.

                What surprised her was his sudden change of attitude.  One minute he'd seemed so wary, even a bit standoffish, and then he'd turned around and asked her to dance.  She couldn't help but wonder why.

                As for Ford, he kept his mouth shut and tried not to breathe too deeply.  The jukebox music was pounding in his head, and he found himself fighting off waves of nausea.  The darkness he'd been feeling licked at the edges of his mind as he stared at the girl.  He was surprised at his ability to stay upright, much less dance, what with everything that was going on in his head.  Why had he done this?  Why had he interrupted a perfectly good evening of getting drunk just to sway around a packed barroom with some girl whose name he didn't even know?

                Her voice interrupted his thoughts.

                "I've heard a lot about you," she said, loudly enough to be heard over the music but quietly enough so that the conversation could be relatively private.

                Another comment that left the conversation dangling dangerously.  Ford responded to it the only way he knew how: darkly.

                "Yeah?  Which bits?  The bits where I'm an eccentric drunk with a UFO fixation or the bits where I'm' a nutter who thinks he's from another planet?"

                "The bits where you're homesick," she replied smoothly, not missing a beat.  Despite himself, Ford was impressed.  She was wrong, of course – Betelgeuse was the last place on his mind – but her general perception was dead on.

                "So you don't think I'm just some crazy boozer looking for attention?" he asked, keeping his tone level.  He hardly dared to hope that this girl might actually take him seriously.

                "Hardly.  I spend as much time in this pub as you do.  I've heard you talk, and I think you're the only person that might be able to understand me."

                Ford raised his eyebrows.  All Earthlings had a deep-seated desire to leave the planet; that was a well-known fact.  And who could blame them?  The planet had no redeeming qualities to speak of.  Dirty air, dirty oceans, dirty people...everything was second-rate.

                But there was the way the girl had looked out the window that made Ford believe she was suffering from more than general species discontent.  There was something more to the whole situation that he wasn't getting.  For the first time in a long time, Ford cursed himself for drinking so much.

                "Understand you how?"  It was a rather weak reply, and lacked any of the mystery and intrigue that narrative usually attaches to such situations, but Ford wanted a straightforward answer.

                "When I hear you talk about getting away from things, about traveling the galaxies...it reminds me of me.  You always sounds so wistful, and I always feel so trapped."  She stopped and studied Ford's face.  "I'm right, aren't I?" she asked, "The stuff about space, that's all true, isn't it?"

                There seemed to be no reason to lie, so Ford nodded.  "It's true."

                The girl sighed, as if some weight had been taken off her.  Then she said, "Tell me about it."

                At this point, a man who was several times more drunk than Ford tried to cut in on their dance.  Ford made a complicated gesture at him which is universally accepted to mean, "Your father messes around with Eccentrica Gallumbits", but which has fallen into disuse because, in many parts of the Universe, people's fathers _do _mess around with Eccentrica Gallumbits.  It is, however, still a terribly rude-looking gesture.  The man had to go home and lie down without quite knowing why.

                The girl sensed a kind of tension building in Ford, and steered him gently towards the door.  There would be fewer distractions outside, and besides, it seemed a more fitting setting for their conversation.

                "Wait, where are we going?" Ford asked when the girl pushed the pub door open and pulled him out into the cool night air.

                "To look at the stars," she replied with a quick, ironic half-smile that made the darkness flicker in Ford's consciousness again.

                The stars.  Home.

                The streetlights made it difficult to see the night sky, even in the alleyway outside the pub, but that was all right with Ford.  Things were surreal enough already without a big fat reminder of what he'd been kept from these past nine years.

                The girl sat down on a crate next to some trashcans and looked up, despite the fact that the only clearly visible celestial body was the moon.  Ford watched her and felt that introductions were finally in order.

                "I'm sorry, but I feel awkward not knowing what to call you."  Admittedly, the awkwardness Ford was experiencing stemmed more so from the feeling that the night was beginning to give him, but it was a good cover nonetheless.

                The girl took her eyes off the moon and gave Ford another dark, piercing gaze.  He hardly liked to admit it, but she was making him uncomfortable.

                "You can call me Ford," he added in what he hoped was a helpful tone, but knew it was really rather lame.  He would be surprised if he hadn't made a fool of himself by the time the night was over.

                "What's your real name?" she asked, not seeming the least bit fazed by Ford's momentary inability to say anything intelligent.

                Again, Ford saw no point in lying.  "Even I can't pronounce it.  It's in some strange dialect that hasn't been used since before the Great Collapsing Hrung Disaster."

                For a moment, the girl looked confused.  "What's a hrung?"

                Ford shrugged.  "I have no idea."  Then, continuing to feel awkward, he removed his battered satchel and sat down next to the girl.  Without really meaning to, he glanced up at the sky.

                "You can call me Avis," the girl said suddenly.

                Ford looked at her.  He somehow felt compelled to ask, "And what's your real name?"  So he did.

                Avis did not seem surprised.  "My first name is Calca, which means 'star', but I usually find it easier to go by something that doesn't say so much about me.  So I go with my middle name."

                "Avis."  Ford tested the name and decided he liked it.  It was a little offbeat, like the girl was.  Like the night was turning out to be.

                "Yes," Avis said, reclining on the crate and leaning against the wall," Tell me about space."

                Ford didn't want to talk about space.  Or at least he thought he didn't.  But the second he opened his mouth, he found himself telling Avis all about Sub-Etha, electronic thumbs, hyperspace, Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters, the whole bit.  Everything he missed so terribly came pouring out into the open, all directed at this girl who was, in essence, still a complete stranger.

                Ford stopped talking when he realized this.  His mind was bouncing around in so many directions that he didn't even know what he was thinking.  What he really so desperate for his old life that he'd talk to the first person who showed a glimmer of understanding?  Apparently so.  How strange that he hadn't noticed it before.  How stupid.

                Avis must have seen that something was wrong, because she reached out and touched Ford's arm gently.

                "It's okay," she said, "I'm not lying to you."

                Of course she wasn't.  He could see in her face that she wasn't.  And Ford suddenly realized that part of the reason he felt so strange was because he was afraid.  Afraid of being caught in a nightmare he may never wake up from, afraid he might never taste freedom again, and afraid of pulling anyone else into his personal darkness.  Yet he still felt a yawning gap inside that Avis was, albeit probably unknowingly, offering to fill.  But he couldn't take the chance.  He couldn't get her hopes up, couldn't let her into his world.  If he did, she'd end up like him, trapped inside her head and dying a little more every day.  So he did the only thing he could think of, which was to try to dissuade her.

                "It sounds glamorous, I know," he said, "But it's really a rough life.  The dirty spaceships, the unfriendly life-forms, the wild fluctuation of the value of the Altairian dollar, it all adds up to one pretty big load of crap you have to put up with.  You're better off here.  The stars are too dirty and too dangerous."

                He should have known better.  Instead of being turned off the idea, Avis looked more intrigues than before.  She moved her crate closer.

                "But that's all right," she said.

                "Oh, i-is it?" Ford stammered, licking his lips and inwardly cursing his poor dissuasion tactic.  He realized that he was moving backwards as Avis learned toward him.  Usually he would be all over a situation like this, and indeed the other person in a situation like this, but something about the young woman continued to worry him.  She was too forward, too observant, too...fast.  Ford was beginning to get the impression she wanted something he wasn't ready to give.

                "Listen Ford, I'm what, almost thirty?  You've been all over the universe; I've never left England.  You've seen the stars and planets of distant spirals that I've only dreamed of.  That's what it all is for me, don't you see?  Dreams," Avis sighed, "All just dreams.  If I could get out there, I would.  I really would.  But nobody understands.  Except you."  At this, she looked up into Ford's eyes.  "You understand, don't you?  Because you've been there, and I can see it in your face.  You're young, but you've been all over.  Please, let me share that."

                Ford relaxed a little.  He felt better, knowing that Avis felt the same way he did and knowing she didn't mind bearing her soul to a near-total stranger.  He also had a suspicion that Avis would understand his plight even better than he did.

                "So that's what you want?" he found himself asking, "To travel with me?"

                "Yes," Avis said, and kissed him.

                It wasn't a very good kiss, but it was a very long kiss, and this was partly because of Ford's sudden feeling of interest in the whole business.  It was all clicking into place.  Hadn't he been looking for something like this, someone to understand him?  He was starting to believe that hits wouldn't be another one of those one night strand with some girl from whatever bar he happened to be in on whatever planet he was researching that day; no, this could be something real, something fantastic, something lasting.  And that intrigues him, yet at the same time it scared the hell out of him.  One of the things that Ford Prefect never, ever wanted to do was settle down.  He's been fighting his semi-grounded state for nine years.  Excitement fueled his life; what would a meaningful relationship do to that?

                All this went through is head very quickly, and finished around the same time that the kiss did.  He came away from it breathlessly, although he couldn't tell if it was with passion of a new branch of his current fear.

                "So...where to now?" Avis asked, her eyes bright.

                "I..." gasped Ford, "I think I know..."  And with that, he went with the flow, wrapped his arms around Avis, and they lost themselves in another kiss.

                Avis was surprised again, but in a good way.  Things were connecting quickly in her head, even though very little actual conversation had gone on.  There was something about listening to Ford, something in the way the distant look in his eyes deepened when he talked about space travel, that suddenly gave Avis a connection she'd been trying to find for years.

                Her hand brushed the back of Ford's head.  He must not have had a haircut in a while, because his hair was slightly shaggy under her fingertips.  Somehow this only added to the mood.

                Ford loved longhaired girls.  Long hair was sexy.  And despite his doubts, there was something more about Avis than just the things that scared him.  She was mysterious, and Ford liked mysterious.  She was also, somehow, without having to say much, open, friendly, caring...she was interested in him, genuinely interested.  Ford couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to talk to someone about his intergalactic travels and not be branded completely drunk.  Avis wanted to hear what he had to say, and what's more, she believed him.

                The kiss ended, inevitably, as all kisses do.  Ford's heart was pounding in his ears, and he found that he liked the feeling.  He hadn't felt like that since he'd been to a Disaster Area concert as a kid, although then it had been the result of being pounded half-deaf by loud music.  This...this was much better.

                Avis was exhilarated.  She'd known Ford only an hour or so, and suddenly she loved him.  She loved his eyes, his voice, his stories, his mannerisms...him.  It was foolish, really, but it felt right.  Somehow or other, it felt totally right.

                When Avis woke up in the morning, it took her a moment to remember why she was in an alley and why there was a ragged-looking young man curled into a tight ball next to a set of garbage cans.  When it came back to her, she sighed, but happily.  They'd talked into they'd fallen sleep, she and Ford.  Everything had become much more open.  Of course, there had also been quite a lot of kissing, and somehow she knew Ford felt the same way she did.  Somehow, both of them had fallen in love.

                Quite suddenly, Ford threw his arms over his head and started shrieking in his sleep.  Apparently, he was having some sort of nightmare.  Avis leaned over and laid a hand carefully on his shoulder.

                "Ford," she said quietly, "Wake up!"

                Ford continued to shriek for a moment, and then his eyes flew open, taking in the alley, the garbage cans, and her.

                "Oh...it's you," he said weakly, fighting to catch his breath, "I thought I'd dreamed you."

                Avis raised an eyebrow and smiled softly.  "Is it a bad thing that you didn't?"

                Ford grinned, shaking his head.  "No."

                They ended up back inside the pub.  There didn't seem to be a need to go anywhere else at the moment.  However, Avis noticed that something was still on Ford's mind, because he ordered a stiff drink as his breakfast and didn't even notice when the bartender brought him a glass of water instead.  Avis watched him sip it absentmindedly for a moment before speaking.

                "Ford," she asked gently, leaning forward, "Is something wrong?"

                Ford set the glass down and looked out the window.  "I've been on this planet too long," he murmured.  He sounded distant, tired, as if he hadn't slept enough.  Avis suddenly felt very worried.

                "Ahh, our resident alien," the bartender grinned, resting his elbows on the bar and rubbing at the die of a glass with a dirty rag, "Homesick again, little green man?"

                "Push off, will you?" Avis snapped.  The bartender stoop up, looking slightly put off, but he left them alone.

                Ford continued to stare out the window.  He couldn't look at Avis, not right now.  His eyes would give him away and there'd be no end of explaining to do.

                He'd dreamt about them again, the things he thought that alcohol had long ago flushed from this brain.  Despite the pleasant events of the previous night, sleep had been total hell.  Even now, when he was wide awake, black storm clouds were barraging his mind with red rain.  He knew it would all come out if he looked at Avis, and he wasn't ready to burden her with that.  He doubted he'd ever be ready.

                Meanwhile, Avis sat worrying.  Something pretty dreadful had to have been going on in Ford's head to make him shriek like that.  Plain old homesickness didn't do that to people.  And Avis had never heard a man shriek.  Scream, maybe, and definitely shout, but never shriek.  Ford had sounded terrified, almost lost, and Avis felt it was, overall, very out of character for him.

                "Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?" she said finally.

                "Nothing's wrong," Ford replied, although his voice was tight.  Sure, he'd told Avis about his being stuck on Earth, but despite their newfound closeness, she didn't know enough about his past.  He couldn't ask her to shoulder his demons.

                But she wouldn't let him alone.  "Maybe you can't get off the planet right now," she said, "But you definitely need a change of scenery.  Have you ever been to America?"

                This caught Ford off-guard.  "What?"

                "America," Avis repeated, "Come on, Ford, you've been on the planet for nine years.  You can't tell me you haven't been to New York and things."

                "Oh, well, New York.  Everyone's been to New York," said Ford, who hadn't.  Of course he's traveled the Earth, partly to satisfy his wanderlust, but mostly to try and get some sort of signal on his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic.  And he'd done a lot of calculations; despite the Earth's continual rotation, America had repeatedly tested out as a bad place for receiving signals.  Ford had put it down to overall bad location.

                "Well, you're not everyone," said Avis.  Ford was impressed that she caught on so quickly.  "So why don't we go?"

                The prospect interested Ford more than he liked to admit.  After all, anyone who could successfully hitch a lift on a spaceship could have a lot of fun with an airplane...

                "All right," he agreed, "But you'll need a towel first."


	2. The Demons of Ford Prefect

Chapter 2 – The Demons of Ford Prefect 

                The first time Ford got a really good look at Avis was when she got out of the shower.

                She hadn't been taking a shower; she'd been unclogging the drain.  The two of them had gotten a hotel room in one of the less prestigious regions of New York City, and their first few hours their had been spent cleaning up.

                It had never before occurred to Ford that a girl half-covered in drain clime and soap scum could be sexy.

                During the plane trip, he'd been able to clear most of the darkness out of his head, and now he felt that he could see things a bit better.  This turned out, at least for the moment, to be to his benefit.

                Since it had been rather dark for most of the time they'd spent together up until now, all Ford had readily been able to gain about Avis was that she was slim and long-haired.  Now, with the light from the windows illuminating things, he was able to ogle her properly.

                "Long-haired" was an understatement.  Avis's hair was wavy and auburn and hung to her waist, even though she had it pulled back in a scarf.  And her slimness stopped short of the unattractive sort of skinniness that Ford had encountered in other girls.  Her skin was a comfortable shade somewhere between olive and light brown, and her eyes very nearly matched her hair.  Ford began to feel self-conscious, so he went to have a shave.

                "So where do you want to eat tonight?" Avis asked, wandering into the bathroom and removing the scarf from her hair, "Or do you feel like ordering in?"

                "I wouldn't trust room service in this place as far as I could throw it," Ford replied indistinctly, trying not to cut himself.

                "Italian, then," Avis decided with a grin, "Nothing cures all ills like a good plate of pasta.  I'll go mad some calls."  She tossed the scarf on the counter and practically skipped out.

                Ford looked after her for a moment, then turned back to the mirror.  He was trying to figure out where Avis's change of mood had come from and when it had come about.  Just the previous night they'd been bonding over a sort of mutual feeling of depression and being trapped.  Now she seemed to be almost childishly happy.  Had she found in him something he hadn't yet found in her?  The thought was not a comforting one.

                By the time Ford was done toweling his face off, Avis had made dinner reservations.  She informed him of this cheerily when he emerged from the bathroom.

                "And now that the drain's clear we can both have a shower," she added.  Ford indicated with a wave of his hand that she could have the bathroom first.

                Once he was sure the shower was running, Ford sat down on the bed and pulled out his copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_.  He hadn't shown it to Avis yet, although a lot of the "stories about space" she'd asked him to tell had involved references to it.  Somehow he thought she'd like the book itself.

                He flipped to the entry on the usefulness of towels and reread it, deciding that he'd add something about the use of towels on Earth if an appropriate situation popped up.  Other than that, though, he couldn't think of anything else to submit.  Most of his experiences on Earth had been too dark or too personal – or both – to be useful in the context of the _Guide_.

                Avis was feeling, much to her own surprise, free and happy.  She'd never felt free before, and so rarely felt happy that it was all somewhat new to her.  But she was determined not the let the feeling go now that she had it.

                In part, it had to do with Ford.  Despite the fact she'd only known him a day, Avis knew she'd found in him someone to talk to.  He understood her feeling of being trapped, and he'd said that, if he ever found a way to get off the planet, he wouldn't hesitate to bring her with him.  It was almost like those fairytales people told about finding your soul mate.

                Almost.  There was, quite obviously, something that Ford wasn't telling her.  It was almost painful to see the effort with which he would steer some conversations.  Whatever it was, he _really _didn't want to talk about it.  Avis was reminded, inevitably, of the shrieking.  It didn't only happen at night; it happened every time Ford slept, no matter where they were.  It had even started on the plane while Ford dozed, but Avis had shaken him awake before it got too bad.  He'd seemed embarrassed and rather mortified to find out what had been going on.  Overall, it bothered Avis that Ford refused to open up when she'd already bared her soul to him outside the pub the night before.

                Perhaps it would just take some time, she told herself.  He'd talk about it when he was ready.

                Dinner was a bit awkward.  Ford kept alternately watching Avis and staring into the distance, and Avis spent most of her time watching Ford watch her.  Finally, when they both reached for the same breadstick, Avis took advantage of their brushing hands to entwine her fingers with Ford's.  She felt him wince.

                "You don't really want to be here, do you?" she asked quietly.

                Ford shrugged.  "The food is good."

                Avis didn't comment that Ford had barely touched his food.  The reach for the breadstick had looked more habitual than anything else.

                "Ford, pardon the pun, but you're incredibly spacey tonight.  I can tell something's bothering you."

                Ford twirled pasta around on this fork with his free hand, but said nothing.

                Avis sighed.  She knew she couldn't rush him, but it wasn't easy.

                "All right.  But you know, if it bugs you, it bugs me."  It was a childish tactic, but it was the best Avis could do at the moment.

                Much to her surprise, Ford looked away and said, "I know," very quietly.  Then, to her further surprise, he looked straight at her and got a more comfortable hold on her hand.

                "I know I'm hurting you, Avis," his voice was stronger now, "But believe me, it would only hurt you more if I told you what I've been thinking about."

                To Avis, this was not an adequate excuse.  But at least Ford acknowledges that there was something on his mind.  It was more than he'd done that morning.

                Ford cursed himself inwardly for being so obvious.  He cursed that bloody sleep-shrieking, was well.  He should have known Avis would worry about it, that she would press him.  And he couldn't say anything.  He couldn't _do _that to her.  So he was copping out with a stereotypical excuse.  It figured.  He wished he were his old self.  The old Ford would be so much cooler about everything.  He would poke around, have a few drinks and some laughs, and not worry so much about every little thing.  He would be suave, romantic, slightly mad...everything that the current Ford knew he could be, but was having trouble finding in himself.

                Avis didn't insist that Ford finish eating, and didn't even try to suggest that they split one elaborate Italian dessert.  Instead, she got the waitress to pack up the leftovers, paid the check, and hailed a cab once they were outside.  Ford felt vaguely uncomfortable about all this, but he also appreciated it.  It showed that Avis knew when to back off, and he needed that at the moment.

                What he didn't need was to watch her get naked.  True, she was only changing into her pajamas, but she did it right in front of him.  It obviously wasn't out of lack of modesty – when she'd taken a shower, she'd gone into and come out of the bathroom fully clothed – but still, Ford didn't want his hormones flapping about.  Not now.  Not with Avis.  He clutched his bedtime drink convulsively and fought to find something appropriate to say.

                She beat him to it.  "Want to watch TV?"

                Ford glanced at the battered set on its equally battered stand and shook his head.  Then he glanced at his satchel and got an idea.

                Five minutes later, the two of them were pouring over the _Guide_ looking at everything from Milliways to Kakrafoon.  Somehow, Ford didn't find this as depressing as he would have under more normal circumstances.  Besides, Avis loved it.  She talked animatedly and pointed at the screen, laughing at all the right times.  Her hair brushed Ford's shoulder and he suddenly felt closer to her.  He realized that he was letting her deeper into his world, and that scared him.  But at the same time, he was amazed by how well she took to it.

                They stayed up half the night, dreaming up space fantasies, most of them involving expensive space buggies and too many Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters.  Eventually, they drifted off with their heads together, while the _Guide_ droned something about Pelegathian MegaRabbits and the best ways to catch one.

                The days began to pass more easily.  Avis was bitten by the tourist bug and bought a camera and a map before proceeding to drag Ford to every landmark on New York City.  Ford returned the favor by finding the best nearby bards and clubs.  The two of them staggered back to their hotel room more often than not, singing and laughing, only to plop down and laugh some more over the _Guide_ and a few bad American sitcoms before bed.

                Ford marveled at his change of mood.  Maybe he had found more in Avis than he'd first thought and everything would finally be okay.  He could only hope.

                Avis marveled at the almost total lack of physical commitment in the relationship.  She'd gated – and broken it off with – several guys who couldn't see past what their bodies wanted, and it both amazed and pleased her that Ford seemed able to connect on some sort of emotional level.  That wasn't to say she didn't like it when he kissed her; it was just nice to have something besides physical attraction.

                The fact that Ford was still keeping something locked up in his head had almost completely slipped her mind.

                It is a well-known fact on many inhabited planets that alcohol has the ability, if consumed in large enough quantities, to make a being believe he is thinking clearly when, in fact, he is not.  Still, this does not stop beings from consuming alcohol in many forms, especially the forms topped with a colorful paper umbrella.

                One night, about a week into their trip to New York, Avis and Ford had both consumed several paper umbrella-topped drinks in a less-than-desirable bar.  This in itself was not unusual, as they'd gotten drunk in several disreputable places over the last few nights, but this night was different in that it would be the only night when they would regret it.

                Smoke settled greasily around the bar as Ford leaned forward and took Avis's hand.  She was laughing at something he'd said, although he couldn't really remember what it was.  All he knew was that he was having an immensely good time.  This trip was really taking him back.  Seeing the sights, getting smashingly drunk, and pouring over the _Guide _at night was a girl who was, essentially, the love of his life...Ford had never imagined that he could have so much fun on a planet like Earth.  For once, everything was going his way.  As if to emphasize this point, Avis leaned over and kissed him.

                Someone changed the jukebox over to something mellow, and the bartender flipped the TV to a bad cop show.  Avis sighed, finding contentment somewhere in the new atmosphere, and Ford bought then both another drink.

                "This way!" a cop on the TV shouted.

                "No, this way!" countered his partner.  Ford ignored the program and turned to Avis.

                "I love you," he found himself saying.  It was an odd thing to say, and he couldn't recall ever having said it to anybody before.  He'd just had the sudden urge to say it.

                "That's a funny thing to say, at least here," Avis echoed Ford's thoughts with a grin, "Considering that we're both totally pissed."

                "Good at time as any.  I might not remember to say it once the hangover sets in," Ford grinned, as well.

                "I told you to go the other way!" shouted one of the TV cops.

                Avis leaned over and tapped the bartender on the shoulder.  "Hey, could you turn that off?  There's people trying to be romantic over here."       

                "And there are people trying to watch it over here!" shouted someone at the other end of the bar who was too drunk for everyone else's good.

                Avis proceeded to argue with him, something she only did when she was completely tipsy.  Ford watched for a while, the looked, rather vaguely, at the TV, where a badly staged shoot-out was taking place.  Once of the cops was already on the ground, and the other was running around, occasionally mugging the camera and bleeding from some indeterminable place near his shoulder.

                Ford was horrified to find himself fighting down a wave of nausea.  Oh Zarquon, not now.  He turned back to his drink and stared at it determinedly, ignoring the images that the TV was throwing against the glass.  The sounds of Avis shouting and the bartender trying to shut everyone up suddenly seemed very far away.  The tinny sound of the TV gunshots overlaid everything like a thick, morbid blanket.

                Only they didn't sound like gunshots to Ford anymore.  IN his head he heard the distinct crack of photon beams and Kill-O-Zap pistols, sounds never heard on Earth, sounds Ford had never wanted to hear again.              

                And he saw a desolate landscape, something like a desert only with trees, though the trees were black and sticklike.  There was a gleaming city in the distance, but it was too far to run to for safety.  In the gathering mental darkness, Ford was dimly aware of Avis asking him if he was okay.

                A wounded figure slid into his line of vision, but he was unable to distinguish his mind's morbid film from the TV's cop trash.  It had all started to run together.  Ford felt himself moving towards the figure, as a camera would pan.  The figure – a man about Ford's own age – was sprawled on the ground now, gasping and writing.  He turned his head to look at Ford, and Ford screamed.

                The scream was real, and accompanying it was a dim, tilting view of the bar's ceiling as Ford fell backward off his stool.  He saw Avis jump up, staring at him and asking him something, but he couldn't hear it above the blazing photon beams and his own screaming.  Eventually that stopped, but only when the storm clouds in his head let a gentle rain hiss over what was left on is consciousness.

                Ford awoke, to his extreme annoyance, in a hospital bed.  His annoyance was alleviated somewhat by the fact that Avis was sitting next to him.  The entire situation was alleviated somewhat by the fact that Avis was sitting next to him.  The entire situation was overlaid with some degree of embarrassment.

                Avis jumped out of her chair when Ford's eye opened.  Everything had happened so suddenly and been so strange that she hadn't known what to think.  She dill didn't.  For a moment she just stared at Ford, who was looking out the window.  Then she asked the question that was filling her mind.

                "Ford, what the hell happened?"

                "How long was I out?" Ford replied with another question.

                Avis was a little surprised at how coherent he was.  "Two days," she replied, "At first the doctors thought you'd had too much to drink, but nothing changed after they pumped your stomach.  Hell, Ford, I know you weren't _that _drunk.  Tell me: what happened?"

                Her face was pale and her eyes were red, Ford noticed.  He sighed inwardly.  This was what happened in a relationship, romantic or not.  They cared, and then _you _started to care, and then something happened, and it all got _complicated_.  Ford wondered briefly how he'd gotten himself back in a situation like that.

                "How long has it been since you ate?" he asked Avis, aware also of the dark circles under her eyes.

                "Two days," she replied.  Somehow, this did not surprise Ford, although it did worry him.

                "Why don't you go get something to eat," he suggested gently, "And when you're done...we'll talk."  He said the second part with some reluctance, but he knew it would be unavoidable.  Better to just get it over with.

                Two days!  The thought blazed in Avis's head as she made her way down the corridor.  Two bloody days just sitting there, watching the doctors puzzle over Ford and seeing the scene in the bar replayed in her head.  It had all been so strange, so sudden.  Ford hadn't shrieked in his sleep for a full three nights before the incident.  And then suddenly, there in the bar, he'd become fixed and distant.  She'd ask him if he was okay and two seconds later, he'd started screaming, there was broken glass everywhere, and he'd fainted.  Out cold on the floor, the remains of his glass strewn all over the bar, and the bartender yelling about liability.

                Two days...she'd just sat and watched.  Ford had not once moved except for breathing, which had been shallow.  No one knew what was wrong with him and, despite her feelings towards him, Avis would be damned if she didn't get some answers.

                She found some vending machines and got a candy bar and a soda before heading back to Ford's room.  She wasn't sure yet if she was angry with him or not, or if she had a right to be.  She had the vague impression that something disconcerting was about to happen.

                Ford was sitting up, looking through his satchel, when Avis came in.  He pulled out the _Guide _and turned it on.

                "I didn't want to have to tell you about this," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the book as he punched in a code, "I didn't want to tell anybody."

                "This is what's been bothering you since we met, isn't it?" Avis asked, already knowing the answer.

                "Not just since then," Ford replied, shaking his head, "For years."

                "And it happened while you were traveling?"  Again, Avis knew the answer even as she asked the question.

                "Yes," Ford said, his eyes still locked on the screen of the _Guide_.

                "I thought you had fun hitchhiking."

                "Oh, I did," Ford confirmed, "Most of the time.  Except when I had a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster hangover.  And," the volume of his voice dropped considerably as the entry he had been looking for appeared, "When this happened."

                He turned the _Guide _so Avis could see it.  The screen showed the entry for a planet called Fanfellen Kappa, light years from Ford's home on Betelgeuse.

                "Fanfellen Kappa's great," Ford said, his voice still quiet, but loud enough to drown out what the _Guide _had to say about other people's opinions on the planet, "Beautiful place.  Gleaming cities, big spaceports, attracts hitchhikers like you wouldn't believe.  Almost as bad as Ursa Minor Beta.  Except," and here Ford's face darkened, "For the Fanfell Clay Fields."

                Avis waited.  She had no idea what Ford was about to tell her, and she didn't want to say anything for fear he'd change his mind or withdraw into himself.  She definitely didn't want to hear him scream again; that had been worse than the sleep-shrieking.  No one had been able to stop him, and his eyes had been locked on some faraway place...Avis shook her head.  Right now, she just wanted to listen.  She wanted everything cleared up.

                "Me and a couple of my mates had gotten ourselves on board a souped-up starbuggy driven by some real cool rich kids," Ford continued, "They told us to use their teleport system to go anywhere we wanted.  We knew they just wanted to get rd of us, but we couldn't say no to a free pass to anywhere in the Galaxy.

                "There were four of us: Vroonsoft, Quazzar, and Jivnet.  I was the partier, Vroon was the thinker, Zar was our Scout, and Jiv was the guy who wrote everything down.  He was also my best friend.  I'd met Vroon and Zar when I started working for the _Guide_, but I'd gone to school with Jiv.  We were real close, had our first Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster together and everything.  And when we joined the _Guide_, we got a lot of assignments together.  All that stuff about the pubs on the south side of the fifth moon of Jaglan Beta was ours.  We spent weeks getting smashed on all sorts of stuff just to write that," Ford's voice took on a nostalgic tone for a moment, then he seemed to snap back and remember what he had been explaining.

                "So anyway, there we were, faced with the possibility of going anywhere we wanted.  No strings attached, no favors to be done in exchange.  Of course, we argued.  I wanted to go someplace rich with a lot of pubs and girls, Vroon was all for programming random coordinates just to see where we ended up.  Zar wanted to pop back home for a new towel, and Jiv – for some reason – wanted to see Earth.

                "At the time, even I thought that was nuts.  So we argued some more, and Vroon suddenly got the idea to go to Fanfellen Kappa.  That hooked Zar; he was always a sucker for a new planet to poke around on.  And of course, it fit my agenda.  Jiv, though...he seemed pretty nervous.  He kept trying to get us to change out minds, and we all thought he was just sore at being outnumbered.  He got to the point of flat our refusing to go with us, said he'd teleport somewhere else once we were gone.  We weren't about to leave him behind, but we weren't about to change out minds, either.  So Zar set the coordinates and I dragged Jiv into the teleport.  He wouldn't stop trying to convince us not to go, right up the point when the teleport activated."

                Ford paused again to bring up another _Guide _entry, this time on the Fanfell Clay Fields.

                "We were aiming for Gramstrag, the biggest, noisiest city on the planet.  But Zar must have been drunk or something because we materialized on the clay fields.

                "The Fanfell Clay Fields are really awful.  Nothing grows there, all the trees have been dead for years, and nothing can live there.  So people decided to start using them to fight on.  When people got told to take it outside, they took it to the clay fields.  Some of the worst galactic battles in history got fought there, and the place is so full of the ghosts of war, it's disgusting.  And we got dropped right in the middle of a fight.

                "It was a hell of a thing, photon beams and Kill-O-Zap pistols going off everywhere.  We weren't armed; the most we had was a towel.  Vroon and Zar ran for it as soon as they saw where we were.  Jiv and I were stuck in the middle of everything.  We couldn't hear each other over the noise, but Jiv was giving me this 'I told you so' kind of look.  Now, I don't scare easily, but standing there, surrounded by gunfire, with Jiv shooting me that look, gave me the creeping horrors.

                "Then everything started happening at once.  Since we couldn't plan or even shout whims to each other, Jiv and I started running.  We tried to keep together, but things were so crazy..." Ford shook his head, "Five minutes later I heard this scream.  It was Jiv, no mistaking it.  I couldn't tell what he was saying, if he was saying anything, but I went for it.  I mean, I couldn't leave him behind while I ran. 

                "When I found him...it wasn't good.  He'd got caught in a crossfire and he was on the ground, nearly hysterical with pain.  And there was nothing I could do.  Nothing.  I tried to come up with some sort of plan, but there was no way I could lift him or anything.

                "Then Jiv grabbed my wrist and said something.  I obviously couldn't heat it, but he kept saying it over and over, and I leaned in to try and hear him better.  All I heard was the word 'Earth" before someone hit me with a photon beam and I blacked out.

                "The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital in Gramstrag, and Vroon and Zar were there.  I remember being disoriented and asking about Jib, wanting to know if they'd gotten him okay and what room he was in," Ford laughed hollowly, "I really should have known better.  Vroon and Zar were all solemn about it, tried to break it to me gently, but the fact is, Jiv was dead.  He was dead, I was alive; they'd been able to get me to a hospital, but Jiv died on the clay fields."

                Avis waited again, but it seemed that Ford was done.  He was biting his lip and staring out the window while the _Guide _droned away in his lap.

                "That's why you came to Earth," she said finally.

                Ford nodded, still looking out the window.  "I thought I'd come for about a week, check out some places Jiv would've liked, and leave."

                "But you got stuck," Avis stated.

                Ford picked up on the multiple meanings of this and nodded again.  "Jiv died, and I've been burning brain cells ever since."

                Although she felt she knew where the conversation was headed, Avis had to press it.  She had to make sure she understood what was going on in Ford's head.

                "That can't be the worst thing that happened to you while you were hitching," she said carefully, "I mean, I'm sure you've seen other battles..."

                I worked better than she'd expected.  Ford rounded on her so quickly that she had to take a step back.  His stare was fierce and intense, full of anger and pain. 

                "Don't you get it?" he hissed, "It doesn't matter what else I've seen; I'll always be haunted by this.  Because, Avis, I got saved and Jiv didn't.  It's my fault that my best friend died.

                The cliché nature of Ford's outburst made Avis angry, despite the fact she'd been expecting it.

                "Where do you get a conclusion like that?" she demanded, "You even said there was no way you could save him."

                "The point _is_," Ford snapped, also getting angry, "We shouldn't have even _been_ there.  We'd all been hitting the Janx Spirit, we were high on freedom, and the wrong coordinates got set.  Someone should have listened to Jiv, and that someone should have been me."

                "What about Vroon and Zar?  They were the ones who ran off and left you and Jiv," Avis pointed out, attempting to hammer some logic into the situation, "If you're going to start pointing fingers, start with them."

                Ford had slid down in bed, but now he pushed himself up forcefully, sending the _Guide_ flying.

                "It wasn't Vroon or Zar that Jiv was looking at on that field.  It was _me_.  It was me he was saying 'I told you say' to, it was me who couldn't save him.  It was me who heard his last words!"  He lost steam suddenly and looked out the window again.  "I saw him, Avis.  I watched my best friend dying.  I watched his die and knew there was nothing I could do."

                To Avis's surprise, Ford started crying.  And as she watched the tears roll down his cheeks, she felt she was witnessing his ultimate low, his rock bottom.  Maybe the way he explained it didn't make sense, but the experience had obviously scarred him terribly.  Avis could only imagine his pain.

                She climbed into the bed with Ford and offered her embrace.  He leaned into it and Avis held him as he cried, letting him discharge all that pain, saying without words that she would take on as much of it as he needed her to.  And in this manner, Ford Prefect cried himself into the first truly peaceful night's sleep he'd had in nine years.


	3. Arthur Dent

Chapter 3 – Arthur Dent 

                As soon as Ford was out of the hospital, he and Avis returned to England.  It seemed like the best thing to do.  But Avis refused to let Ford stay anywhere alone.  She moved a few of her things to his apartment and basically lived there, returning to her own place only when Ford expressly asked for time alone.

                Despite his confession and Avis's subsequent attention, Ford sunk into a kind of desperate depression.  He wanted to get off Earth more than ever, and the continuing silence of his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic only frustrated him.  He ceased wanting to go out drinking, preferring to buy a bottle of brandy and kill brain cells while blitzing out on trashy TV.  And the harder Avis tried to get him out of himself, the further away he slipped.

                Finally she decided to just give up.  Not on Ford, no, but on trying to get him to interact.  If pushing him was making everything worse, then backing off was the logical choice.  Avis decided to stay close enough to let Ford know she was there for him, but scale the rest of her efforts back.  If Ford wanted to talk, he'd talk.

                It took a week of near-silence, but Avis's patient caring paid off.  Ford had been stuck in his head, generally moping around in a drunken haze, watching TV and staring at the _Hitchhiker's Guide _without really seeing either.  Sometime in late evening, he hit his own personal "one too many" mark and sat in bed, looking at the ceiling and grinning hollowly.  Avis climbed into the bed next to him and gently took the empty glass out of his hand.  Then she settled in with a book, just like she'd been doing for the last week.

                "I had this dream," Ford said suddenly, his voice flat and a little slurred.  It was the first thing he'd said since he'd yelled at the TV two days previously.

                "Yes?" Avis prompted when he didn't offer anything further.

                "I was flying over this field on Betelgeuse," Ford spread his hands, "Literally flying, no ship or anything, and just looking at things.  Just taking a really good look around for no real reason.  Then suddenly I saw my towel on the ground, and figured what the hell, better go get it.  So I swooped down, right, only I missed and hit a tree.  Then," Ford started to laugh mirthlessly, "Then...I _died_."  He leaned his head back on the pillows and laughed so hard that tears started streaming down his cheeks.  Avis stared at him, not quite sure whether or not she should be horrified.  She didn't have time to decide before Ford coughed and sat up, wiping his eyes.

                "And you really have to start wearing more clothes," he said, grabbing the brandy bottle and, seeing that his glass was out of reach, drinking out of it.

                Avis had considered a sports bra and a pair of pajama pants quite enough for sleeping in, and she put this comment down to Ford's advanced drunken state.  On that note, she took the bottle away and looked at him until he met her eyes.

                "Ford, you are _not _dead," she said firmly, "No matter how much you wish you were or how hard you try to make it so, you're not dead.  You're alive, and we're together, although I'm starting to doubt that you remember why.  So how about this: a friend of mine is having a party tomorrow night.  Let's go to it.  We'll dance, we'll drink, we'll have a good time.  And _you _will get out of this funk of yours and remember who you really are."

                Ford sighed.  "Fine.  We'll go to the party.  Can I have the brandy back now?"

                In response, Avis poured herself a glass and kept the bottle firmly out of Ford's reach.

                Ford resented that he was being forced to sober up.  But what could he do?  He _had _been drinking too much, moping too much, and generally making a mess of himself.  And Avis was right: in the process, he'd begun to take her presence for granted and forgotten the things that were behind their relationship.

                There was the travel – Avis wanting to see the stars and Ford wanting to get back to them – and the mutual feeling of being stuck, or of not belonging.  But now that everything had come out and Avis was taking it all so calmly, Ford felt as if he was creating an imbalance.  He sat around moping, trying to reclaim his old self, while Avis already knew exactly who she was and showed it wonderfully.  Ford felt that his personality was pale by comparison and was no longer holding up his end of the relationship.  Well, no more.  Tomorrow, he was going to be cool and confident if it killed him.

*                                                                              *                                                                              *

                Ford went through his closet, feeling like a fool.  Avis was sitting on the bed, smiling at him.  He knew she didn't think of him as entertainment, but he still felt rather stupid.  It was becoming readily apparent that his time on Earth had not been spent clothes shopping.  IN New York, this hadn't been a problem, but now he had to find something at lest passably dressy.  Avis wasn't a formal person, but she was currently wearing a rather nice black dress in an extremely attractive manner.  Ford didn't expect to match her, but he at least wanted to look like they belonged together.  Hopefully the "cool and confident" part would follow.

                He finally found something suit-like that wasn't too small or too snobby, and followed Avis outside, allowing her to drive.  At this point, he barely trusted himself to move his own body, much less a car.

                The party was...typical, consisting mainly of people making small talk and sipping drinks while standing around, looking overdressed and uncomfortable.  Ford couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a party that was anything but informal, and reflected that he was better at being cool and confident when he didn't have to be mature, as well.  Still, he owed it to Avis, so he tacked on a smile, grabbed a drink, and joined the small talk.

                Avis followed him a moment later with a drink of her own.  Partly, she wanted to keep an eye on Ford, but mostly she didn't want to give away the fact that she hadn't really wanted to come to the party.  She wasn't a people person, at least not when she was exposed to large groups, and maintaining a "social" image wasn't her thing.  But, for some reason, she'd gotten the idea that it would be good for Ford.  And, as she stood watching him try to be outgoing, Avis began to think her idea had been foolish.  She slipped her hand around his elbow and whispered,

                "You're not having fun, are you?"

                Ford drained his drink.  "Fun is relative," he replied.

                "I'm betting it's no Ursa Minor Beta?" Avis said with a soft smile.

                "Ha," Ford laughed flatly, "Not even close."  Then, noticing that his attempt to be "cool" was turning out more cynical than he'd wanted, he added, "The drinks are good, though."

                "Well, if you want to leave, let me know," Avis said before kissing Ford's cheek and heading off into the crowd.

                Ford headed to the bathroom, more to clear his head than anything else.  Avis's intentions were good, he knew, but in this case her idea wasn't working.  The drinks _were_ good, but the party was a bust and Ford was having a hard time not sinking further into himself, much less getting out of his "funk".  He splashed come cold water on his face and tried to think straight.

                Okay, so he _was _alive, Avis had established that much; he was at a party, albeit not much of one; and he had so far failed at being cool and confident.  Well, that was going to change right now.  He was going to go back out, and he was going to be his old self.  Right.

                Avis was staring out a window when a man approached her.  He was about six feet tall, and pretty average looking.  Like just about everyone else at the party, he had an air of awkwardness about him, as if he didn't quite know how to start the conversation and was hoping someone else did.

                "Er, hello," he said.

                "Hello," Avis replied, beginning to wonder where Ford was.

                "Party's a bit slow, isn't it?" the man continued.

                "Mmm," Avis sipped her drink and looked out the window again.  The man seemed to pick up on the implications of her attitude.

                "Is something wrong?" he asked.

                Avis shook her head, not wanting to get into a discussion about what had been going on lately, especially not with a stranger.

                "Nothing," she said, "I'm Avis, by the way."

                "Arthur," the man replied, raising his glass slightly.

                Ford came out of the bathroom and headed in the direction he'd seen Avis go.  He found her standing near the window, talking to a man whose back was to Ford.  He went over.

                Avis saw Ford approaching.  Poor thing, he looked as white as a sheet.  She hoped he wasn't feeling sick, and again doubted her idea of coming to the party in the first place.

                Ford shook his head a bit, trying again to clear it.  He knew he was starting to get drunk.  And yet, though he knew it was just the drink talking, he couldn't ignore some of the thoughts that were rising, unbidden, into his mind.  He was supposed to be cool and confident, right?  He was supposed to be asserting that he was alive, right?  So why had he been spending his time sulking in the bathroom while Avis went around, hobnobbing with other guys?

                It was an insane, inebriated thought, and Ford knew it.  All the same, he squared his shoulders and strode over to Avis and the man, grabbing a drink off a passing tray as he did so.

                "How are you?" Avis asked him before he had a chance to open his mouth.

                "Oh fine, fine," Ford replied with a small nod, "Better, at any rate."

                "That's good," Avis smiled, and Ford thought he saw something like relief in her eyes.  Then she seemed to remember herself and gestured towards the man, who was still standing rather awkwardly nearby.

                "Ford, this is Arthur.  Arthur, this is Ford."

                 Ford raised his glass slightly in acknowledgement of Arthur, and started to sip the drink.  Then his brain registered what his eyes were seeing and he nearly choked.

                "Ford, are you all right?" Avis asked quickly.  Whatever shade of white Ford's face was now had been bleached several times over.  He was staring at Arthur in a way that was clearly making the other man uncomfortable.  Avis excused herself and piloted Ford over to the corner, where she tried to snap him back to reality.

                It took a moment before she could get a coherent sentence out of him.  His eyes were slightly glazed over and he was clutching his drink as if it was the only real thing in the world.  Finally, he focused on Avis and managed to croak,

                "He looks just like Jiv."  Then he fell silent, once again staring at Arthur, who was beginning to look upset.

                Avis was surprised at how calmly she took the information.  She was also surprised at Ford's reaction; she would have expected him to freak out on a much larger scale.  She wondered if he was drunk.

                "Are you sure?" she found herself asking.

                The eyes Ford turned on her were clouded with the darkness of years of inner pain.  It was a look she had hoped never to see again, a look that bored into her and touched bits of her soul that weren't meant to be touched.

                "Yes," Ford said slowly, "I'm sure."

                For a moment, Avis was at a loss for words.  Arthur's resemblance to the friend Ford had lost on the clay fields of Fanfellen Kappa obviously bothered Ford very much, and Avis felt that she could understand why.  But the only thing that came to her mind to say was,

                "Do you think it means something?"  So she said that, and waited for Ford's reply.

                Ford gave Arthur another long look, causing the other man to turn away and stare out the window.  Then he finished the rest of his drink and grimaced.

                "What could it mean?  That life has decided to torture me again?  That I'm not meant to have a moment's peace?"

                Avis said nothing.  She was also looking at Arthur, but her train of thought was entirely different from Ford's.  She patted his arm.

                "Get your coat.  I think we'd better go."

                Once Ford had disappeared in search of his jacket, Avis approached Arthur again.

                "Is your friend all right?" he asked, glancing around as if he were afraid that Ford would pop out of nowhere and stare at him again.

                "He's fine," Avis nodded, "Just a bit drunk."

                "Oh," Arthur sipped his drink nervously, "I see."

                A sudden idea struck Avis.

                "Can I bother you for your phone number?" she asked.  The question startled Arthur so badly that he nearly spilled his drink down his shirt.

                "Er, sure," he managed, patting his pockets and coming up with a pen.  He jotted his number down on a napkin and handed it to Avis, looking puzzled.

                "I'm sorry," she apologized as she folded the napkin, "This all must be very awkward for you."

                "Well, yes, it rather is," Arthur admitted.

                "I hope it will make sense some day," Avis said, half to herself.  She looked over her shoulder, hoping to see Ford, and there he was at the edge of the crowd, holding his jacket and looking mildly harassed.  Avis decided not to say anything about the fact that he didn't appear to have retrieved her jacket.  After politely saying goodbye to Arthur, she got her coat herself, and she and Ford left the ill-fated party.

                Ford was less than happy when Avis showed him the napkin with Arthur's phone number written on it.  He pushed her hand away and went back to sulking.

                "What good would it do?" he demanded, folding his arms.

                "I'm just letting you know it's there," Avis replied calmly, setting the napkin on the table where they were sitting in Ford's kitchen, "You can do what you like with it.  I happen to think it would do you good to get in touch with him."

                "Why?" Ford wanted to know, "So he looks like Jiv.  So what?"

                "That's my point exactly," Avis said, "I didn't mention Jiv at all; you did.  Your mind is obviously making some sort of connection."

                Ford sighed belligerently, but he knew Avis was right.  Ever since the party the night before, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Arthur's uncanny resemblance to Jiv.  He'd tried to brush it off as an attack of memories and conscience, but it wasn't working.  What did it all _mean_?  Now, after all this time of suppressing things, of trying to escape, why did someone who could've been Jiv's twin have to pop up out of nowhere?

                It was that bad.  Arthur's features were almost a carbon copy of Jiv's, right down to the way his eyebrows moved when he was embarrassed.  It was creepy, to say the least, and Ford didn't want to admit just how scared he'd been when his brain first made the connection.  He didn't want to relive that part of his life anymore; he'd been through enough hell because of it.

                "I'm going to go home for a while," Avis said, standing up.  She kissed Ford's forehead.  "Just think about what I said, okay?"

                "All right," Ford agreed, albeit a bit reluctantly.  He stared at the door long after Avis had gone, and he did think.  He thought about his days researching for the _Guide_, he thought about all that he and Avis had been doing, and he thought about Jiv.  It hurt, but he did it anyway.  He needed to; he needed to make sense of the last nine years, needed to know why he'd finally broken down, needed to know why his mind was suddenly preoccupied with an event he'd been trying to suppress since it happened.

                The only answer he could come up with was Avis.  Truth be told, he'd never had a reason to be sober before he'd met her.  Before that night in the bar, Ford could barely remember having a coherent thought while on Earth.  Then Avis had filled his world with intelligence and beauty and, most of all, fun.  She'd gotten him out of his slump and reminded him what it was like to be free and happy, to truly live.  Then she had to go and get this bloody phone number.

                Bur that was the thing, wasn't it?  That's all she'd done: gotten the number and given it to him to do with it what he pleased.  Some girls would have called Arthur themselves, or watched to make sure Ford did.  But, Ford figured, most girls would have left him long ago.  Avis hadn't; she was sticking around, and that meant more to Ford that he could put into words.  But her personality, the way she always knew what to say, made him open up more than he ever had to anyone, and in turn, he became more open with himself.  That was what had made him break down, that sudden rush of truth, the feeling that he had to confront his past because it affected someone other than himself.  Before that moment, Jiv's death had been holding him hostage, keeping him from his goal of getting back out into the universe.

                Ford stared at the napkin.  What good would it do, calling that number?  But then again, what harm was there in it?  The worst that could happen would be that Arthur would think he was a nut and hang up on him.  He could just test Avis's theory, and that would be that.

                With a decisive nod, Ford picked up the phone and started to dial.

                Avis jumped when the phone rang.  She had been deep in thought, worrying about Ford and how the party had affected him.  In a way, she felt responsible for him, like it was up to her to help him out of whatever emotional hole he'd been digging for himself over the years.  She didn't mind it – after all, she loved him dearly – but a whole lot of extra anxiety came along with the relationship.

                "Hello?"

                "Hi Avis.  It's me, Ford."  Ford's voice sounded a bit hoarse.

                "Ford?" Avis sat up straighter in bed and rested her elbows on her knees, "What's wrong?"

                "I just called the guy you met at the party," Ford replied.  Avis had a hard time reading his tone.

                "And?" she asked.

                "His name is Arthur Dent, and I'm having lunch with him tomorrow."  There was no mistaking it now: even though he was trying to mask it with a macho, adult attitude, Ford was terrified.

                "Who did you tell him you were?" Avis found herself asking.  It was a totally inappropriate question for the conversation they were having, but she wasn't quite sure what else she could say without having Ford break down again.  He was obviously hanging on to his sanity by a very thin thread at the moment.

                "I told him I was an out-of-work actor from Guilford!" Ford sounded angry, "What was I supposed to say?  'Oh, hi Arthur, I'm from another planet and you just happen to look like the ghost of my dead friend'?"

                "I didn't mean it that way, and you know it," Avis chided, "But I also know you're upset by this whole thing, so why don't you go to bed, get some sleep, and we'll talk about it in the morning?"

                "How am I supposed to _sleep_?" Ford cried, and Avis heard in his voice the same sound of being lost that had been the core of his sleep-shrieking.

                "Just...sleep.  Go to bed, close your eyes, and sleep.  I'll always be here for you, for whatever you need."

                There was silence on Ford's end for a moment.  Then: "I love you, Avis."

                Avis could only hope that the response meant that her words had given him some sort of peace.  

                "I love you, Ford."

                "Good night."

                "Good night."


	4. Rebirth

**Chapter 4 – Rebirth**

                Ford paced.  He was nervous as hell and Avis knew it, judging by the calm sort of sympathy that was in her eyes as she watched him.  Neither of them said anything until Ford stopped suddenly near a cabinet and reached for a bottle of vodka.

                "You don't want to be drunk when you meet him," Avis said quietly.

                Ford looked over his shoulder at her and raised his eyebrows.  "Oh, I don't, do I?"

                "No," Avis shook her head, "You need control of your senses, Ford, or else you could get confused and who knows how it would turn out?"

                Ford sighed.  He didn't want to admit it, but Avis was right.  If he started drinking now, he'd be totally smashed by lunchtime and his brain would start seeing Jiv instead of Arthur, regardless of any differences that might show themselves during the course of the meal.  So he resigned himself to a sober morning and sat down at the table, drumming his fingers listlessly and staring out the window.

                Avis watched him for a moment, then asked, "Where are you now?"

                "Betelgeuse Five, believe it or not," Ford replied with a sigh, "Sometimes I wonder why I ever left; things were great there, not nearly as complicated."

                "You have an urge to travel," Avis said, "I don't know if it's in your blood or what, but it's definitely in you somehow."

                "Home seems so far away," Ford whispered.

                Avis reached across the table and took his hand.  

                "Home is wherever you feel comfortable," she said softly.

                Ford turned to look at her.  The late morning sunlight was shining on her hair and she seemed so stable, so reassuring, like she would always be sitting right next to him if he felt alone.  It made Ford think of their conversation the night before; Avis had said that she'd always be there, and she didn't lie.  The thought made Ford feel suddenly calm, and he squeezed Avis's hand gently.

                "Are you ready to do this?" she asked, sensing that a change had come over him.

                Ford nodded slowly.  "I'm ready."

                Avis smiled.  "Then I'll meet you there later."  Admittedly, she wasn't altogether comfortable with Ford's idea of taking a taxi to the pub where he was going to meet Arthur, but he had made it clear that he could handle going by himself.  Avis could only hope he was right.

                Secretly, Ford was wishing that he had taken up Avis's offer of driving him to the pub, but his failure to be "cool and confident" at the party had struck a sort of nerve in him.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, the old Ford was screaming: "You're Ford Prefect, for heaven's sake!  You don't choke; you tough it out!"  And, despite the ease he usually felt when Avis was around, Ford was listening to his inner self.  This was one thing he had to do alone.

                He was late arriving at the pub.  In a way, he was glad of this; he knew that, if he'd arrived before Arthur, his anxiety would have overridden Avis's advice, and he'd have been well on the way to oblivion by the time the other man walked in.

                As it was, Arthur was sitting at the bar, his hands securely wrapped around a pint of beer.  To Ford's surprise, he looked apprehensive, as if he was expecting the world to come crashing down around his ears at any moment.  Suddenly, Ford realized that he himself had been reacting the same way to the lunch meeting, and he laughed.

                "A pint of bitter," he said to the barman as he sat down next to Arthur.  Arthur started a bit.

                "Er, hello," he said awkwardly, attempting to casually mop up the beer he had spilled, "You're Ford, yes?"

                "Yes," Ford replied with a nod, feeling curiously light-hearted at the sight of Arthur's nervousness, "And you're Arthur."

                "Right," Arthur nodded, as well.

                "That party the other night was a bit of a flop, wasn't it?" Ford commented as the bartender handed him his pint.

                "Dreadfully boring," Arthur agreed, "You're lucky you left when you did."

                "Got worse, did it?" Ford asked with a grin.

                "I didn't think it was possible, but yes, it did." Arthur affirmed.

                For some reason, this exchange broke the ice and the conversation rambled along comfortably for a while.  Arthur asked Ford several questions about being an "out-of-work actor", which Ford felt he handled rather well for someone who wasn't a native of Earth and had spent most of his time just about everywhere _except _Guilford since his arrival on the planet.  Then, somehow, they came back to the subject of the party.

                "How did you end up there?" Arthur enquired, "You don't seem like the type who goes in for those sort of parties."

                Ford decided to tell the truth.  Or, rather, the version of the truth that didn't involve a lot of incomprehensible explanation.

                "Avis brought me.  I've been in a bit of a mood and she thought it might cheer me up."

                "Well, you missed the mark on that one, I'm afraid," Arthur commented with a small smile.

                "She made an effort, at least," Ford said, glancing out the window.  The mention of Avis made him wish he was back at his apartment with her.

                Arthur seemed to notice and he started to look uncomfortable.

                "So," he said slowly, "Avis...is she your girlfriend?"

                The question surprised Ford.  He continued to look out the window as he took a long pull at his beer.  Finally, he said,

                "You could say that."

                _It would be a gross understatement_, he added mentally, _But you could say it_.

                "Oh," said Arthur, "I thought so."  He couldn't seem to think of anything else to say, which was just fine with Ford.  He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but for some reason, talking to Arthur about Avis made him uncomfortable.  He began to feel somewhat claustrophobic, and tried to come up with something else to talk about, something that didn't involve the recent past.

                Suddenly, Ford spotted Avis's car pulling up outside and felt a surge of relief.  Arthur saw Ford's expression change and followed the other man's gaze.

                "That's my ride," Ford explained before draining his current drink and standing up.

                "Oh.  Well then," Arthur stuck out his hand, "It was nice talking to you."

                Ford shook the proffered hand, though not without reluctance.

                "It's been interesting," he said, then headed for the door as far as was possible without looking like he was retreating.

                Avis was sitting in the car, waiting and looking slightly amused.  She smiled at Ford as he slid into the passenger seat.

                "So, how'd it go?" she asked.

                "How's it go?" Ford repeated in disbelief, "It was a living hell!  Where have you _been_?"

                It was plain that Avis was trying to suppress a smile.  Ford noticed and found that it annoyed him.

                "_What _is so funny?" he demanded.

                Avis let the smile show as she replied.  "You have no idea how long you were in there, do you?"

                "Long enough," Ford grumbled, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't help being a little curious about Avis's question.  Indeed, her whole attitude seemed rather strange, almost out of place.  Ford would have expected her to be comforting, caring, worried...not sitting there, ready to laugh at him.

                Avis sense Ford's confusion and explained,

                "I came by after about forty-five minutes, like you asked, and when I looked in, you and Arthur seemed pretty comfortable.  I figured that was a good sign, since you were so upset before lunch and Arthur seems easily unsettled.  So I went for a drive and came back about fifteen minutes later.  The two of you were talking and laughing, so I drove around again.  Came back, same thing.  I took one more drive around just not and saw you were looking pretty upset, so I stayed."

                Ford looked at Avis in disbelief.  "So what are you saying?"

                Avis laughed.  "I'm saying that you and Arthur sat in the same pub together for an hour and a half without having any sort of meltdown."

                Ford tried not to look as surprised as he felt.  An hour and a half?  It hardly seemed possible.  From the way Avis was talking, the hellish eternity Ford had experienced had, in reality, lasted no longer than fifteen or twenty minutes. The rest of the time, it seemed, he and Arthur had been...having _fun_.

                Suddenly, Ford felt embarrassed.  He didn't really want to admit that lunch had been rather enjoyable despite the initial awkwardness.  He didn't want to concede that, maybe, just maybe, much of his tetchiness and worry had been unnecessary.  And he definitely wasn't ready to talk about Arthur's resemblance to Jiv because, to tell the truth, the similarities were so uncanny that it was almost as if Jiv had made it to Earth somehow.

                That was the most embarrassing thing of all, really: the feeling of ease that had suddenly cropped up between Ford and Arthur.  For his part, Ford knew it stemmed from the fact that Arthur was quite like Jiv.  And he was afraid to say anything out loud for fear of it coming out wrong.  For fear of confusing himself.  He didn't want to mix the two men up in his mind in any way.  So instead, he said the first thing that came to his mind:

                "He asked if you were my girlfriend."

                It was Avis's turn to be surprised, first at the change in topic, and second at the topic itself.  Ford rarely talked about their relationship directly, and when he did, he tended to be very drunk.  He seemed to be only partly drunk now, which, for Ford, was pretty much the same as sober.  So Avis wasn't quite sure how to react.  She wished she knew where Ford's mind was, where he was going with the thought, be she didn't.

                "And?" she asked, feeling that this was appropriately neutral.

                "I don't think that's the word for it," Ford replied, resting his chin in his hand and looking out the window, "I mean, 'girlfriend"...it seems too empty."

                "Yes," Avis agreed slowly, "It does."

                There was a moment of silence.  Then, Ford turned form the window and looked at Avis, suddenly very serious.

                "So what are we?" he asked.  For once, Avis couldn't quite read his tone; it seemed to contain a mixture of confusion, fear, and, oddly, sadness.  What _was _he worried about all of a sudden?

                "I think," she said finally," That we're really in love."

                "Really in love," Ford repeated, nodding, "Yes, I think that's it."  He went back to looking out the window, only this time he seemed quite content.

                Avis stayed with him that night.  She couldn't quite put her finger on why, but something told her that it would be good for him.  Despite his apparent content in the car, he seemed to need further reassurance that their relationship was indeed concrete.

                The first sign that something was still bothering him was that he remained completely sober.  The only time Ford Prefect remained sober was when he wanted to think.

                He emerged from the bathroom after a long shower, toweling his hair off and humming tunelessly.  Avis watched from the bed, where she had been toying with the _Hitchhiker's Guide_.

                Finally, she said, "What else happened at lunch that you aren't telling me about?"

                Ford signed under the towel.  "Nothing really happened at all."

                "And is that what's bothering you?" Avis asked.

                "Yeah," Ford nodded, tossing the towel aside and sitting on the edge of the bed, "It's kind of like a blind date; that sort of thing isn't _supposed _to go well."

                "But it did," Avis pointed out," Why is it so hard for you to accept that you and Arthur had a good time together?"

                "Because...because," Ford paused, searching for the right words, "Hell, Avis, because he's so much like Jiv that it's absolutely crazy.  He's nervous, he gets embarrassed easily, he even zones out when the conversation gets too complicated.  And I just...can't put myself back in that situation."

                "What situation?" Avis asked, "A situation where you can enjoy yourself?"

                "A situation where I care," Ford replied.  There was silence as the statement hung in the air, suddenly seeming very big and very precarious.

                Then Avis said, quietly and carefully, "You already are."

                "And a fine mess I've made of it!" Ford exclaimed angrily, "What have I given you besides grief?  Besides darkness?  Besides a total load of crap you don't need?  We were going to travel, and I even managed to ruin _that_."  He signed.

                When it became apparent that he wasn't going to say any more, Avis said,

                "I meant what I said, you know."

                Ford looked up.  "What?"

                "In the car.  I think we're really in love."

                Again there was silence.  Ford kept running his fingers through his damp hair and shaking his head.  His expression suggested that he was wrestling with something in his mind, something that, to him, didn't quite make sense.  Finally he said,

                "Even after all the expectations you had, all the things I said we'd do, everything that I couldn't give you...you still love me?"

                Avis leaned forward and gently took Ford's hand.

                "Ford," she said quietly, "Listen to me: I love you.  Not the ides of traveling with you, not the stories you tell me, _you_.  I have loves you since the night we met, and nothing is ever going to change that.  That's the _truth_, Ford.  It's all I can tell you.  You have to be able to believe in it."

                For a moment, Ford said quietly, feeling Avis's hand in his and letting her words flow through his mind.  There was a comfort in them that put his doubts to rest and quieted the inner voices that were trying to tell him he'd ruined the relationship.  He turned to Avis and kissed her, and that kiss said more than any words Ford could have come up with.  They _were _in love, and that was something they could both lean on, always.

                Morning dawned and Ford woke on a strange high.  He felt as if he'd been reborn; his blood was roaring through his veins, his mind was going a million miles an hour, and everything looked fresh and new.  He bounded into the kitchen and found Avis there, humming and making pancakes.  There was already a pot of coffee made, and Ford poured himself a cup, sitting down at the table and looking out the window with a peculiar smile on his face.

                Avis recognized that smile.  She's seen it the day the two of them had flown to New York, and several times afterwards, mostly when they'd been to a particularly good pub.  Ford was happy.

                She set a plat of pancakes down in front of him before settling herself across the table.  She figured she's let him enjoy his mood; he'd talk when he was ready.

                The surprise came a moment later, when Ford set his coffee mug down and reached for the syrup.

                "Australia," he said he drenched his pancakes in sticky sweetness, "I haven't been to Australia yet."

                "I think," he continued after a while, his mouth full, "That I'd like to go there."

                "Then go there," Avis said with a nod, "You need a change, and the _Guide _needs the information."  She smiled over the top of her coffee cup.

                Ford watched her for a moment, then said, 

                "You're not coming, are you?"  He wasn't sure quite how he knew, but somehow it was clear to him that, if he went to Australia, he would be going alone.  Yet, for some reason, the realization didn't make him feel empty or upset.

                Avis shook her head.  "I have some things to do here.  But if you want to go, you ought to go."

                Ford could tell that she meant it, and a feeling of calm came over him.  It was almost as if he could, finally, let go of all the fear and doubt that had been haunting him.  Avis cared, and she cared enough to not hold him back, even if it meant being apart.

                As for Avis, she could sense that Ford needed some time to himself.  And somehow, she knew she could let him go to Australia without having to worry.  Something had changed in Ford, and the change was a good one.

                And so began a new phase in their relationship.  It seemed that their love could remain strong without them having to be together every moment of every day.  Ford went to Australia and returned bearing enough information to fill several chapters of the seemingly infinite _Guide_; Avis went to America briefly to visit relatives, and she took enough photographs to fill several albums.  Every time one of them took a trip , they always made sure to meet up afterwards and share experiences.

                Years passed in this manner, and Ford's cares began to weigh less and less on his mind.  His relationship with Avis was as strong as ever, and he occasionally wondered what had possessed him to spend so many years alone in the past.  Love was sweet, life was perfect, and things were generally looking bright.  Even his friendship with Arthur was going well; the two of them often met for lunch and a drink on the weekends when Avis was out of town.

                Avis, too, felt that things couldn't be better.  All the worry that had originally accompanied her relationship with Ford was gone, and she could focus purely on their love.  She never had doubts when Ford went off somewhere by himself; he always came back, and somehow Avis knew that she didn't have to worry about him having an emotional breakdown.

                The trust between the two of them was stronger than the bonds of marriage.  Indeed, they had discussed marriage once or twice, but in the end they decided that it wasn't necessary.  They were like best friends: they knew each other's quirks, and they knew when they needed time apart.  Marriage just didn't fit the kind of relationship that they had.

                In this manner, they remained bonded to each other, but also free of mind and spirit.  A true understanding had grown between them, an understanding that lulled them and caused Ford to nearly forget about his desire to leave Earth.


	5. Hitchhiker's Trust

**Chapter 5 – Hitchhiker's Trust**

                It was raining.  Of course, that wasn't unusual, at least not in England, but it annoyed Ford nonetheless.  He was supposed to be gallivanting across the countryside, generally having a good time, waiting for Avis to get back.  Instead, he was stuck in a pub in London, staring morosely at the rain and getting terribly drunk.

                He wasn't quite sure what had happened.  One day everything had been perfect, and the next, a dark cloud had descended over his life.  The strange thing about it was that it bore no resemblance to the darkness that had hung over his life in the recent past.  No, this was a new darkness, sudden, foreboding, and utterly confusing.

                So, Ford had enabled his usual coping mechanism and secured himself inside the nearest pub while it, to put it bluntly, pissed down outside.  He spent quite a bit of time there before staggering out with his satchel hanging crazily from one shoulder.

                He continued to stagger down the street, occasionally missing the sidewalk altogether.  It was on one of those occasions that a car came around a corner and nearly ran him down.

                When the screeching of brakes had died away, Ford swung himself back onto the sidewalk and shook his fist unsteadily.

                "Watch were you're going, you bloody turlingdrome!" he shouted.  He expected the driver to speed away, but instead, the car came to a halt near the sidewalk.

                "Ford?" said a voice from within.  The windows on both the driver and passenger's side were open to admit the cool evening air.

                Feeling a bit confused, Ford leaned down and peered in the passenger window.

                "Arthur!" he exclaimed when he was able to focus, "How are you?"

                "Well, a bit shaken, if you want to know the truth," Arthur replied, giving Ford a critical look, "Are you drunk?"

                "Not nearly enough," said Ford.  He swung the passenger door open and slid into the car.  "Come on, let's go have a drink."

                "But –" Arthur started to protest.

                "What?" Ford interrupted, "You're here, I'm here, there's a pub up the road, so let's go!"

                Arthur looked wary, but he put the car in gear and started off anyway.  He knew what Ford was like when he was drunk, and he wasn't about to try and argue.

                The pub was noisy and very nearly full.  The air was saturated with smoke and music and laughter.  All of it reminded Ford of the night he'd met Avis, and he felt another wave of depression wash over him.  He couldn't fathom why, after literally years of total bliss, the thought of Avis was upsetting him.  He chalked it up to temporary loneliness and ordered another beer.

                Beside him, Arthur was also beginning to get a bit tipsy.  He started to talk too much and laugh too loud and, as usually happens under those circumstances, conversation turned to the seemingly ridiculous.

                "This beer is filthy," Ford slurred, "Doesn't hold a candle to Ursa Minor."  He looked thoughtfully into his mug for a moment, then ordered something stronger.

                "Ursa Minor?" asked Arthur, electing to keep his own beer, "What's that?"

                "Big tourist area.  Awful place.  Good drinks, though."  Ford was far too drunk to fully realize what he was saying.  He had never discussed space with Arthur before – he had preferred to keep up the guise of "out of work actor from Guilford", mainly because of Arthur's resemblance to Jiv.  But now, Ford was drunk enough to believe that he was being witty, and he began to brag about his adventures in space, embellishing them accordingly as the evening wore on.

                Arthur listened and laughed, but he was also drunk and didn't understand most of what Ford was saying.  In fact, he probably wouldn't have understood it if he was sober; the upshot of being drunk was that he didn't remember most of the conversation in the morning, and what he did remember, he brushed off as the ramblings of an intoxicated man.

                Ford, however, remembered most of what he'd said, and cursed himself for being so stupid.  He knew he should have just gone home and blitzed out on television until he fell asleep.  But something had kept him out, had him spend time with Arthur, and he couldn't begin to fathom what it might have been.

                He lay in bed for a while, thinking about it and trying to ignore his hangover.  It wasn't as if Arthur had been a driving force in his life over the past few years; quite the contrary, in fact.  Most of the time Ford could recall spending with Arthur had been spent solely because Avis wasn't around, and he had been bored, or lonely, or sober, or all three.  Arthur wasn't a friend so much as a substitute, and not a very good one at that.  So what, besides the sheer force of drunken stupidity, had suddenly possessed Ford to tell him about space?

                The question seemed to have no answer, and Ford dismissed it, electing instead to bombard his hangover with coffee and wait for Avis to get home.

                Avis could feel the change in atmosphere even before she entered Ford's apartment.  It was clear that he'd been brooding over something, and that he'd gotten quite drunk at least once in the process.

                The apartment itself was a mess; clothes, empty beer cans, and half-eaten Chinese takeout littered every flat surface.  Avis found Ford parked by the window with the _Guide _in his lap.  He looked up when she came in.

                "Harmless," he said, and turned his gaze back out the window.

                "What?" Avis asked, sitting down next to him.

                "The _Guide _entry for Earth: harmless," Ford sighed, "Bloody great help that's turned out to be."

                "Did something..._happen_ while I was away?" Avis inquired hesitantly.  This kind of dark, sarcastic mood was the last thing she would have expected from Ford, considering the events of the recent past.

                Ford shook his head.  "No.  I'm worried, though."

                Avis couldn't recall ever having heard Ford say this, and was a bit startled when she felt a chill go down her spine.

                "About what?" she said quietly.

                Ford gave a short laugh.  "Life," he said, "The Universe.  Everything."

                "You haven't been like this in a long time," Avis said, giving Ford a critical look.

                Ford knew she was right, and he wished he could offer a rational explanation for his mood, if only to ease the concern that had crept into Avis's voice.  But the fact was that he couldn't.  His sudden depression made no more sense to him than Ursa Minor did to Arthur. 

                At length, he said,  "I haven't taught you how to hitchhike yet."

                "Hitchhike?" Avis asked in surprise, wandering what this had to do with the discussion.

                "Yeah, hitchhike.  You know, Sub-Etha and electronic thumbs and towels and things like that."  A light came suddenly into Ford's eyes.  "I always thought you'd be good at it," he added, "The way you looked at the sky the night we met, how you took so well to crazy travel plans...," he paused and gave Avis a long, unblinking look, "I think it's time."

                Avis found herself smiling.  She hadn't ever seen Ford in a mood quite like his current one, and the light in his eyes told her that, somewhere beneath the darkness he was showing, Ford felt at home and, in his own way, incredibly happy.

                Ford fetched his satchel and began pulling out what he considered to be the essentials for hitchhiking in space.  When he had finished, he spread them on the table: his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic, his electronic thumb, his towel, a rather aged bottle of Janx Spirit, and, of course, _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_.

                "This," he said, pointing to the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic, "Is you way of knowing if there's someone around to give you a lift..."

                For nearly a week, Ford spent much of his time showing Avis the ropes of intergalactic hitchhiking.  She picked up on it rather quickly, as Ford had thought she would.  In fact, he had always intended to teach her; he couldn't really think of a reason why he had waited so long to do so.

                They had only one conversation that Ford considered rather strange.  They had just come inside after a lesson in hand-to-hand towel combat, dripping wet and laughing, and were trying to warm up with a cup of tea when Avis said,

                "Have you ever considered bringing Arthur along when you leave the planet?"

                Ford very nearly sprayed tea across the table.

                "_What_?" he sputtered, thoroughly surprised by the question.

                "Well, you have to admit you've been quite a bit happier since you met him," Avis replied, apparently unfazed by Ford's reaction.

                "I've been happier since I met _you_," Ford returned, shaking his head, "Arthur's had absolutely nothing to do with my mood."

                "Oh come on, Ford.  Before the party?" Avis raised an eyebrow, "You were depressed as hell.  And after you had lunch with Arthur, you were practically a whole different person.  I'm positive that I didn't have anything to do with that."

                Ford said nothing.  He knew what Avis was implying, and it was something he still hadn't quite come to terms with.  In fact, over the years Arthur's resemblance to Jiv had drifted to the back of Ford's mind, and he preferred that it stayed there.  He didn't want to admit that it gave him a sort of comfort, almost like the Universe was saying everything was all right.  It was a strange feeling that Ford wasn't sure he liked, mostly because of the effort he'd expended over the years, trying to keep Arthur and Jib separate in his mind.  And yet...and yet he _was_ comforted, in a way, whether he wanted to accept it or not. 

                Still, the fact remained that he wasn't particularly close to Arthur, and the thought of bringing a bumbling, awkward Englishman like him into space was utterly ridiculous.

                Finally, Ford said, "Avis, Arthur and I are pals and all, but he'd be a terrible third wheel."

                Avis laughed.  "All right.  I just thought it might help you, that's all."

                Ford didn't reply, but he puzzled over Avis's words for some time after.

                For the first time in a long time, there was almost a full month where Avis and Ford did nothing but spend the days together.  Once Ford felt that Avis had grasped the basics of intergalactic hitchhiking, the two of them went on to do almost the same things they had when they'd first met: see the sights, go to pubs, and browse the _Guide_.  Except now, instead of watching television, they spent their evenings staring up at the sky, naming constellations and swapping facts.

                But all the while, in the back of his mind, Ford felt something growing.  A fear, maybe; although, as far as he could see, he had nothing to be afraid of.  He did his best to ignore it, and concentrated on enjoying his time with Avis.  With all the traveling, he'd forgotten how wonderful it was to just be with her, to hold her close and laugh about nothing, to whisper in the dark hours of the night and share things that no one else knew, to feel the utter togetherness their relationship offered and know that nothing else could ever be better.

                But, despite all this, the fear did not leave Ford.  It stuck with him, and he found that he had trouble sleeping on the nights when Avis returned to her own place.  He often laid awake into the small hours of the morning, trying to figure out what the strange fear meant.  He was never able to make any sense of it, and he usually ended up falling asleep by force of sheer exhaustion.

                Then, one night near the end of the month, it happened.  Ford was once again trying futilely to sleep, and had just about managed it, when suddenly a small, red light started blinking in the darkness.  At first, Ford thought he must be imagining things, or had possibly drifted off and started to dream, but the blinking continued, becoming more and more steady.

                Ford stared at the light for a moment, then sat up so fast that he nearly fell out of bed.  He scrabbled on the bedside table until his fingers closed around the object that was emitting the light.

                It was his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic, the little black box that he'd obsessively kept next to his bed or in his satchel for the last fifteen years, and which had been completely silent for just as long.  And now, finally, someone was coming.

                But who?  And how soon?  Ford scrambled out of bed and ran around, unearthing everything he could think of that might be able to help him find out.

                A short while later, Ford sank back onto the bed, all traces of excitement gone.  In one hand he held the _Guide_, in the other, a beer, and a strong sense of foreboding was settling around him.

                Vogons.  Why did it have to be Vogons?  They were nearly impossible to get a lift from, and even if he _could _make it onto one of their ships, there was a very big chance that he wouldn't get off it again, at least not alive.

                But he had to risk it.  He had to gamble everything on this one chance, because it was the only chance he was going to get.  He drained his beer, picked up the phone, and called Avis.

                "Hello?" she answered sleepily.  Ford realized that it was three in the morning and he's probably woken her up.

                "Avis, it's me."

                "Ford?" Avis instantly sounded more alert, "What's going on?"

                "There's...some ships are coming.  Spaceships."

                "What?" Avis asked in surprise, "Really?"

                Ford knew exactly what was going through her head: that this was the chance they'd been waiting for, and they could finally get off the planet and do wild, amazing things.  He hated to put a damper on that, but he had to let her know the dangers.  He told her about the Vogons.

                "They're coming to do _what_?" she asked when he'd finished.

                "Demolish the planet.  Don't ask me why; the Vogon mind isn't something I want to try and fathom," Ford sighed.

                There was a pause.  Then Avis said, "When will they be here?"

                "Lunchtime," Ford answered, "I haven't pinned it down exactly yet, but we've got some time, at least."  When Avis didn't say anything, he went on, "You do understand what this means, right?  No coming back.  There won't be an Earth to come back _to_."

                "Yes," Avis said quietly.  She seemed to be thinking about something.  "Real hitchhiking.  Real roughing it."  Then, "Are you bringing Arthur?"

                Ford blinked.  "Avis, it's going to be nearly impossible to get _two _people onto a Vogon ship unnoticed.  Trying to bring three would be suicide.  I can only bring one other person, and that person is you."

                "For God's sake, Ford, no, it's not," the force of Avis's response caused Ford to blink again, "It's not, and you know it's not.  The one person that you need to bring off this planet is Arthur."

                "What the _hell _has Arthur ever done for me?" Ford demanded, although in the back of his mind, he knew exactly what Avis meant.  It was the same thing she'd meant the day she'd brought it up while he was teaching her to hitchhike; he just didn't want to hear it.  For six years, he had been planning on taking Avis with him when he left the planet, and he wasn't about to change his plans for anything.

                Avis could almost hear Ford's thoughts.  She knew full well what she was risking, what she was giving up, but she also knew that Ford would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't bring Arthur along when he left the planet.  The fact that Ford would only be able to bring one person along had never crossed Avis's mind, but now that it was a reality, she just had to deal with it; she knew what he needed, and she loved him enough to let him know it, even if it meant letting him go.

                "We both know what he's done," she said softly, "Listen, Ford, I know what kind of pain you were in over what happened to Jiv.  I was there when you broke down.  And then suddenly, Arthur came along and you were...better.  You never shrieked in your sleep again or tried to drown yourself in booze, at least not to the point of being half-dead.  Somehow, despite what you think of him, he cured a pain that I couldn't reach.  And I know you don't want to admit it, but he's a friend to you.  Maybe not a great one, but still a friend."

                Ford sighed.  "What are you getting at?"

                "Ford, you couldn't save Jiv, but you have a chance to save Arthur.  And I know you well enough to know that you will go back to the same dark place you were in before if you deliberately ignore that chance."

                For a moment, there was nothing that Ford could say.  As usual, Avis was right.  Somehow, despite all his faults and embarrassments, Arthur _had _made a big difference in Ford's life.  Looking back, Ford knew it was Arthur who had opened the doors to all the freedom he and Avis had in those years they spent traveling separately.  It was Arthur who had chased away the last of the darkness just by being his awkward, slightly stupid self.  It was Arthur who had allowed Avis to stop worrying so much and let Ford do what he had to do.  The realization was ridiculous, but Ford knew, deep down, that it was all true.  He sat in silence, unable to speak.

                Finally, he said, "But what about you?  If I save Arthur, I can't save you."

                There was a pause before Avis replied,

                 "I don't know if you know it, but...before I met you, I was completely lost.  I always wanted to be somewhere else, to drop everything and leave.  I had nothing.  And then you...you opened up a whole new world for me, a world that I always suspected was there, but could never quite reach.  You brought me the stars.  You handed me the universe and guided me through it.  You have already saved me, Ford."

                "And you freed me, Avis," Ford whispered, "From my past and from myself."

                The two of them sat in silence for a while, listening to each other breathe and slowly beginning to realize that this was going to be the last conversation they ever had.

                Then, out of the silence, Avis asked, "You don't regret it, do you?"

                "You mean us?" Ford said in surprise, coming back to himself, "No.  None of it."  He paused.  "Do you?"

                "No," Avis answered, and Ford could picture her shaking her head, "Not a bit."

                "I love you, Avis," he found himself saying.  It seemed like the only thing that _could _be said.  Ford could tell the conversation was coming to an end, and all he could think of was how far he was from Avis.  She'd been next to him for so long that he suddenly felt isolated without her.  But at the same time, he knew that to hold her or to kiss her one last time would be agony.  He'd never be able to let go if she was next to him now.

                "And I love you, Ford," she answered, her voice nearly inaudible, but nevertheless filling Ford's whole world.  He knew he should hang up then, just get it over with and leave it with those words ringing in his head, but he couldn't.  Against his will, he felt a tear slipping down his cheek.

                "Ford," Avis said suddenly.

                "What?"

                "Don't panic."

                And then it was Thursday.  Technically it had been Thursday for a while already, but Ford had finally been able to drift off for a couple of hours after hanging up with Avis.  He knew he shouldn't waste the last hours of Earth's existence on sleep, but he also knew that, once he was off the planet, he probably wouldn't sleep properly again for several months.  He dragged himself out of bed and brushed his teeth half-heartedly.

                "Figures the world would end on a Thursday," he muttered to himself, "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."

                Then he went around his apartment, collecting what he needed for hitchhiking and shoving it in his satchel.  As he was reaching for his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic, his eyes fell on a picture he and Avis had had taken of the two of them in front of their hotel in New York.

                He remembered how it had happened: they were both still a bit drunk after a visit to a particularly good pub, and they'd asked the next person who came along to take a picture of them.  It was, of course, a foolish thing to do, but the guy turned out to be nice enough and the picture came out good.  Ford wondered if he could handle having it near him, then shrugged and slid it into his satchel.  He had to have Avis with him somehow.

                Finally, he took a last look around, shut the light off, and headed over to Arthur's.

                He found Arthur lying in the mud in front of a bulldozer, arguing with a pathetic-looking, portly man who was wearing a ridiculous fur hat.  It wasn't even close to the situation he'd been expecting, but considering everything that had already happened that morning, he wasn't the least bit fazed.  He took a deep breath and went over.

                "Hello, Arthur," he said.

                Arthur seemed a bit startled and squinted up at Ford for a moment before a look of recognition dawned.

                "Ford!  Hello, how are you?"

                And this, Ford realized, was what it came down to.  He had about fifteen minutes before the Vogons showed up to vaporize the planet; he could tell Arthur he'd just popped round to say hi, grab a taxi, and get Avis before it was too late.  He still had time to drop this ridiculous "save Arthur" plan and do what he'd been planning on doing for the past six years.

                Only...Avis was sure, wasn't she?  She'd watched from the outside and seen the changes that came about.  She was in tune with both their feelings and seemed to know what was right and what worked.  And it seemed that, for all the years that Ford had been dodging the Arthur issue, Avis had been thinking about it, quietly and without pressure.  And somehow she knew the truth that Ford couldn't admit, even to himself: in some bizarre way, Arthur and Jiv _were _connected, even if it was only in Ford's mind.

                So the question was, did he trust Avis?  Did he trust the judgment of the love of his life?  And did he love her enough to do the right thing, the smart thing, instead of the selfish one?

                Ford looked down at Arthur, lying in the mud in his dressing gown and looking utterly ridiculous.  He sighed.  He knew the answer; he'd known it for years.  Avis said not to panic, so he wouldn't.  Avis was his constant, and she didn't lie.  He made his decision.

                "Fine," he replied at last, "Look, are you busy?"

THE END


End file.
